


Conflict Resolution

by Margot_Lescargot



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: (and back to enemies again), (until the next time), Crack, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, and just silliness really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: ‘Oh I know exactly who I’m dealing with.  You say you’re part of the Met, but you don’t behave like it, you never have, so far as I can see, and what’s more you act like you don’t need to, like it’s beneath you.  You’re not a proper copper,’ finished Seawoll.‘Really?’ said Nightingale and his voice became deadly calm.  ‘Is that so?  I’d advise you to think extremely carefully before you say anything of that nature again.’
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Conflict Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed and emphatically NOT in the same 'verse as my other Seagale fic on here.  
It just... had to be done.

‘…And who exactly _are_ you fucking, Thomas, I would like to know, because I really cannot think of another reason how you get to come in here, take us all on a merry dance into the shit – your shit I might add – and drag us down into it as well, while you, every fucking time, come out smelling of roses with not a fucking speck on you.’

‘How dare you?’ Nightingale was white with fury.

Miriam pulled Peter and Sahra out of the room discreetly, and closed the door behind them.

‘I’ll tell you how I fucking dare,’ thundered Seawoll. ‘I – _I_ – run a team out of this nick. A good one, a successful one. One with an actual clear-up rate. Do you know what that means? Or do you think that’s just something you can leave to the servants?’

Nightingale’s voice also went up a notch. ‘I have been running an entire department in the Met, on my own cognisance, dealing with things of which you have absolutely no comprehension,’ Seawoll snorted, ‘since before you were born, and successfully so. So before you begin hectoring me, _Inspector_, perhaps take a moment to consider who you are dealing with.’

‘Oh I know exactly who I’m dealing with. You say you’re part of the Met, but you don’t behave like it, you never have, so far as I can see, and what’s more you act like you don’t fucking need to, like it’s beneath you. You’re not a proper copper,’ finished Seawoll.

‘Really?’ said Nightingale and his voice became deadly calm. ‘Is that so? I’d advise you to think extremely carefully before you say anything of that nature again.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes,’ said Nightingale through gritted teeth.

Seawoll made a show of sweeping around his desk and standing directly in front of Nightingale, his face just inches away.

‘You,’ he paused for emphasis, ‘are not a proper copper and I rue the fucking day I ever had to have anything to do with you.’

Nightingale’s eyes narrowed but before he could say anything in response, Seawoll closed the gap between them, grabbed the side of Nightingale’s face and kissed him savagely. 

After a split-second of shocked immobility, Nightingale pushed him away with such force that he stumbled and fell backwards onto his desk, but Seawoll had no time to react further, before Nightingale – quicker than he would have thought possible – was on him, kissing him in turn, and no less forcefully.

The impact sent a stack of files and a full in-tray crashing to the floor but neither noticed. They half-fell off the desk and reeled, without breaking contact, towards the back of the office, toppling a chair in the process.

Nightingale pushed Seawoll up against the wall and started fumbling with his belt. Seawoll, steadying himself, bit the side of Nightingale’s neck hard enough to leave an angry red mark, and bypassed Nightingale’s belt entirely.

In Miriam’s office, Peter had started to look hopeful when the shouting had died down. But then, as the unmistakable sounds of crashing furniture started to be heard, his eyes widened.

‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Are they actually _fighting_ now?’ Another thud. ‘Should I go in there and try to break it up?’

‘NO!’ shouted Miriam and Sahra simultaneously, Miriam going so far as to grab his arm.

The thuds and bangs continued for another couple of minutes before they ceased completely.

Miriam and Sahra exchanged a look. ‘Ok, so’ said Miriam, ‘Maybe we’ll just give them a chance to calm down, and then see what it is they actually want us to-‘

She stopped. The voices had started again.

‘And I cannot fucking _believe_ that you would waltz in here, after all the shit you’ve pulled, and expect us all to dance to your fucking tune.’

‘It is not merely _my_ tune, Alexander, as well you know…’

Peter put his head in his hands. 


End file.
